Heartlines
by sarahhjanesmith
Summary: An exploration of Joseph and Evelyn's life together, set somewhere between the end of the series and the flash forward at the end of Apotheosis.


When she tells Joseph she's pregnant, Evelyn expects him to be upset, possibly even angry. They hadn't planned this, hadn't even thought about this. Joseph had already had children. Joseph had already lost children. He pulls her into him in a tight embrace, whispering assurances in her ear. She knows it's bittersweet for him. She hopes it doesn't stay that way.

Evelyn has never been pregnant. She doesn't know what to expect, doesn't know what's normal and what's not. Joseph tells her to stop worrying, tells her she and the baby are just fine.

When she starts showing, Joseph digs out some of Shannon's old maternity clothes. He gets caught up in reminiscing. They never make it to Evelyn's closet.

He tries not to compare Evelyn to Shannon. It's easy most days, they are nothing alike. But sometimes it isn't so easy, like now, when her eyes are lit up with the excitement and wonder of feeling their child move for the first time. He remembers the look on Shannon's face the first time she felt Tamara, and sees it mirrored on Evelyn's now.

She's having complications. In her sixth month, she's been rather lethargic. She ignores it. Tells herself it happens to lots of pregnant women, tells herself it's to do with her age, and not the health of her child. Joseph finds her collapsed on the floor of the shower, the water still drumming against her skin, the white tiles running red with her blood. Joseph panics, rushing her to the hospital. She has a concussion, along with a case of malnutrition. They want to keep her for observation.

He sits beside her hospital bed, watching her as she sleeps. She hasn't woken up yet. She doesn't know what happened. He wonders how she'll take it.

Her eyes flutter open, immediately darting around the room, trying to discern her surroundings. Joseph whispers her name, using the hand not already squeezing hers to brush a strand of hair away from her face. He tells her about her fall, tells her they won't be leaving just yet. She cries, closing her eyes and placing a protective hand over her distended abdomen.

She's back home now, on bed rest, of course. Joseph spends as much time with her as he can. Her doctor is optimistic, says she should see improvement soon. She still finds herself lacking energy, but her appetite has returned. She spends her days reading Joseph's law books. She isn't particularly interested, but it's something to do.

He comes home one day to find her leafing through a book on Caprican law. She has most of its weight rested on her belly, but removes it when the baby kicks upward. She mumbles an apology, rubbing the spot with her thumb. Joseph smiles and tells her he loves her.

He watches her at night. He wants to be sure she's still breathing, still living. He's lost too much. He can't lose her too. He places his hand over her stomach, waiting to feel their baby move under his palm. He wants to be sure their baby is still living as well.

Sometimes she stays asleep, sometimes she doesn't. When she wakes up to find him pressing a hand gently against her burgeoning belly, she smiles and tells him to leave the baby alone. Tells him to get some sleep.

He never worried this much with Shannon, never needed to. Her pregnancies had been easy.

She's taken off bed rest three weeks later, and she is grateful. She forces Joseph to take walks with her, telling him fresh air will do them good. She missed the feeling of being on her feet, although, being on her feet didn't used to be so taxing.

Evelyn goes into premature labor four days later. She's hardly into her third trimester. The doctors are able to stop it, thankfully. They doubt the baby would have survived otherwise.

They're having a boy. They hadn't wanted to know, but after a second scare, Evelyn changed her mind. She's glad to be giving Joseph another son. She only wishes it didn't have to be so full of drama.

She's on bed rest, again. This time, Joseph is with her. He brings her things to do, like model ships, or cards.

The baby's movements keep her awake late into the night now. She doesn't mind. Joseph is the most talkative at night; it's when he lets his guard down. They talk about names, and decide on William, after his half brother. She suggests they call him Bill, and he is glad. It would be too painful otherwise.

Evelyn is terrified. It seems as though her pregnancy has been complication after complication. She's sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up to various wires and tubes. She called Joseph, but his stand-in assistant said he was unavailable. She was bleeding. It hadn't been much blood, but any amount is enough to worry her these days. Sam had driven her to the hospital; nobody else was available. The doctor says she wants to do a sonogram to make sure the baby is alright. She tries to reassure Evelyn, telling her bleeding isn't an uncommon occurrence. Evelyn already knows.

Joseph arrives roughly forty minutes later, apologizing endlessly for not being home. He'd taken off work, mostly, but today they'd needed him. She tells him she's fine, the baby is fine, everything is fine.

He just wants this to be over. Evelyn is lying on the couch, her hands entwined over her belly. She's in pain. It started as a backache, then turned into contractions as the day progressed. The doctor told them to come in when they were closer together, or if her water broke. So far, neither had occurred. She calls his name, reaching for his hand as another contraction hits. They're eighteen minutes apart. She's terrified again, more so now than ever. They just need this one thing to go right.

They're at the hospital now, for what seems like the hundredth time in eight months. Evelyn has his hand in an iron grip as she pushes, gritting her teeth in an attempt not to scream.

The nurse places the baby in her arms, and she begins counting fingers and toes, making sure her son is whole. Joseph is weeping, overcome by the relief and joy of finally seeing his son.

Evelyn is tired, and sleeps through most of Sam and Ruth's visit. She sometimes wonders why Ruth sticks around, now that she no longer has any biological ties to their family. She is glad, though, for Ruth. She appreciates all she's done for Joseph.

When she returns to consciousness, the room is quiet again. Joseph is sitting in a chair in the corner, rocking their son back and forth. She tells him they look good together, because it is the truth.

Evelyn is a good mother. It's only her second day, and she's already better than most in Joseph's eyes. She's sitting up in bed, humming a melody he's never heard before and slowly swaying the baby in her arms. He's reminded of Shannon again, the day Tamara was born. She'd held her close and sang Caprican lullabies all night.

Someday he'll stop comparing them. Someday he'll be able to look at Evelyn, the woman he loves now, and not think of the woman he loved before. He can't help feeling this way. He knows it isn't fair to Evelyn.

Evelyn knows he thinks of Shannon. She tells herself she doesn't mind, or that she understands, and she does understand, but she also minds.

She likes to watch him with Bill. He's a good father. It's Bill's second birthday, Joseph is carrying him on his shoulders as they walk down the street. They are happy, or as happy as they can be. They like being parents, together. They make a good team. Joseph doesn't compare Evelyn to Shannon anymore, nor does he compare Bill to Willie or Tamara. He hasn't forgotten his old life, he never could, but rather, he's learned to separate them. Past and present. Then and now. The way it should be. Evelyn is proud of him, she knows it was hard for him. She reminds him often that forgetting isn't a part of moving on, and he knows.

Moving on, however, is a part of forgetting.


End file.
